


Frederician Space AU

by sub_divided



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M, Space AU, Yuletide 2020, frederician RPF, historical RPF - Freeform, science fiction AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_divided/pseuds/sub_divided
Summary: With advances in technology, one could only watch these broadcasts for entertainment; all electronic signals could be easily intercepted, decoded even if encrypted, and faked so convincingly that none would know they had been altered.Therefore all communication in this most decadent of ages - when none could rise above his position of birth, nor abdicate a position of wealth, with computer systems working so excellently and tirelessly  to maintain the existing social hierarchy - was always in person, among people who could verify the truth of each other’s humanity.If one had to impart a message longer than what a human messenger could memorize, one used a very computationally expensive cipher code, that might take days to decrypt; and ruinous amounts of electricity, sometimes equivalent to the electrical output of an entire orbiting solar array.Thus, essentially, dictating the Age of Letters again.***It's a character study basically, but set in outer space.  I hope you like it, mildred-of-midgard!
Relationships: Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great & Other(s), Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great/Hans Hermann von Katte, Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great/Peter Karl Christoph von Keith, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf/Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great
Comments: 26
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Katte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mildred_of_midgard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/gifts).



> This is pretty rushed (it's December 23rd as I type this) but I hope you like it anyway! 
> 
> Research I did for this story:  
> *Wikipedia  
> *Frederick the Great by Margarat Goldsmith (1929), the source of the best quotes on Wikipedia.  
> *Frederick the Great by Thomas Carlyle, but only parts of the first volume, after this I realized it's 8 volumes long  
> *That documentary on youtube  
> *Last but not least, your Frederician fanfiction and posts on <https://rheinsberg.dreamwidth.org>... thank you for having such an interesting hobby, and especially for keeping it all _so organized_ and easy to follow! This is my first year doing yuletide and I had a great time going down this rabbit hole... Before this the only thing I knew about Frederick II was the story about the potatoes. 
> 
> This fic... well, it exists, anyway. Hahaha.

Katte woke alone in the Rose room in the eastern wing of the royal palace, where he’d had his personal quarters for the last several decades. 

The room was small but well furnished, with high vaulted ceilings decorated with carved wooden vines. English roses climbed the walls in a Rococo style; while the branched flowering trees spread across the ceiling had an Oriental influence, like those from a Chinese brush painting, decorated with birds and butterflies. 

Unlike the more public rooms of the palace, these were painted in naturalistic colors - muted greens, browns, reds and oranges - and stood out handsomely against the warm yellow-cream walls and white ceiling. Wood in various warm colors formed a checkerboard pattern on the floor, less flashy than the marble and gold of the main rooms but a better display of the true wealth of the Brandenburg moon. 

Like most of the Germanic and Austrian moons, Brandenburg was well-forested and consisted mainly of marshes, fields, farms and the carefully maintained, extensive woodlands needed to produce a breathable atmosphere on the small moon. To improve the output of the farms and keep the forests as a hunting preserve for the nobility had been of particular interest to the last King; despite their other differences, the current King had maintained this tradition. 

In fact, while gold leaf and marble could be produced via atomic manipulation, one needed the king's permission to cut down the trees. To occupy a wooden room as Katte did was therefore a mark of special royal favor. 

Another mark of favor was that fact that Katte could simply open one of the French doors that flooded his attached sitting room with light, and step out onto the lawn - a mirror image of the King’s rooms on the other side of the palace. 

This he now did, and wandered across the terraced South lawns in search of Frederick.

***

After an enjoyable ramble through the early morning mists, Katte found his King leaned against the railing of the wooden platform that overlooked the large, crescent lake that partially enclosed the palace grounds; like the arms of a man embracing his lover. 

This lake, and the fact that the palace was raised not much above it, was a source of much of the dampness inside and another reason to stick with marble and stone over wood, which could rot. 

But what was kingship if not the power to be conspicuously, wastefully extravagant? 

Katte came up next to Frederick, who turned at his approach to look out over the lake. They stood quietly next to each other for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the mechanical ducks and geese, and the water lapping against the shore; each thinking his own thoughts. It was not for Katte to break the silence. 

“You’ve been to Bath, dear Katte...” Frederick said eventually, starting the conversation in that abrupt way that caught those who didn’t know him well off their guard. “And Versaille. Tell me, how does my Palace compare?”

From long acquaintance, Katte knew to look beyond the words and instead use them as a weathervane to gauge Frederick’s mood - in this case, envy (of Katte’s having been to these places, while Frederick himself had not) and self-harm (to dwell on what he could not have). 

But unlike the courtiers, it was not Katte’s job to soothe these moods. He was one of only a few people who knew Frederick well enough to be honest with him without fear of offending.

So instead he said, “Bath is indeed an architectural marvel, though the style is very different. As for Versailles, I think your palace has a more intimate feel. But this is a sudden and odd question for you to ask…?”

“I have been thinking about my legacy lately,” Frederick said, somewhat gloomily. “Perhaps all I’ve done here will come to nothing.”

This seemed to Katte to be clearly self-pitying, the kind of statement one made solely so that one’s companions could reassure him it wasn’t true. 

But as Katte looked at Frederick sidelong, the two of them still standing shoulder to shoulder and less than a hand's width apart, he had the sudden thought that Frederick looked old. 

In fact the longer Katte looked, the older and frailer Frederick looked; while Katte himself remained exactly the age he'd been when he'd first come to this palace.

But dreams did not follow the logic of chronological time, did they?

He therefore laid the ambiguous age of Frederick aside to offer what support he could. 

“Good taste survives the eons,” he said. “Besides, you know that England, much the same as France and Portugal, suffers the gravitational effects of the two suns upon the coast, being so much closer to them, and the waves break so spectacularly upon the shores of that island nation that sea spray covers the whole country and it is foggy and damp.”

“So not unlike this palace,” Frederick said, quick with the rejoinder. 

Katte snorted. “You’re fishing for compliments, but you’ll be cross with me if I give them to you,” he said. “You know the palace was built exactly as you wished it to be.” 

Though Frederick hadn’t listened to the engineers when they’d advised to build up from the damp ground, he hadn’t forgotten their criticisms, either. 

Even now, in their old age - or at least in Frederick’s old age - and with Frederick’s body betraying him - as truthfully it always had - even now his mind retained most things.

(In some cases, as ammunition to use against his friends and allies later. But no; that was unkind. Just as often it was the kind word or gesture; the act of loyalty that Frederick never forgot.)

The more he made enemies of the rest of the European-Asiatic star system, and grew in infamy as a legend, not a man, the more he relied on his old friends to keep him grounded.

Hence Katte’s role in their shared dreams, though it was sadly limited by the fact that he’d died years ago; and Frederick after becoming King had never accepted what was then a common practice, to recreate the personalities of dead loved ones as a computer simulation, in which one might find comfort. 

For all his other faults, Frederick had always seen though such socially convenient lies, and refused to accept them as the truth. 

***

The universe is a funny place. All of history is not a straight line, or even a pendulum. Instead it’s a spiral. 

For instance, for those who occupy positions of social power and prestige in this world; who make the rules and laws for others to follow and decide their fates; for these people, very few watched the political broadcasts. 

With advances in technology, one could only watch these broadcasts for entertainment; all electronic signals could be easily intercepted, decoded even if encrypted, and faked so convincingly that none would know they had been altered. 

Therefore all communication in this most decadent of ages - when none could rise above his position of birth, nor abdicate a position of wealth, with computer systems working so excellently and tirelessly to maintain the existing social hierarchy - was always in person, among people who could verify the truth of each other’s humanity. 

If one had to impart a message longer than what a human messenger could memorize, one used a very computationally expensive cipher code, that might take days to decrypt; and ruinous amounts of electricity, sometimes equivalent to the electrical output of an entire orbiting solar array. 

Thus, essentially, dictating the Age of Letters again. 

***

Frederick, trapped in the position of his birth as thoroughly as if he’d been born a peasant, was a big fan of writing letters. 

He wrote to Voltaire, whose satire cut in every direction. 

He wrote to other scholars, too, who criticized the stultifying effects of the AI-assisted status quo. Most of these scholars lived on the Inner Planets, where recent colonial enterprises to the far-away American star system had brought enormous wealth in form of new raw materials and energy - wealth used to advance the scientific concerns of their age, and with these advancements, to disrupt the old social customs. 

The little Germanic and Austrian moons around the great gas giant were more old-fashioned, and had long ago settled upon a system that gave each autonomy over its little farms and spaceports; and Brandenburg-Prussia, with its rich holdings on two moons, and largest standing army outside of the great Asiatic empires, enjoyed the greatest influence among them, at least for the time being. 

But on the Inner Planets, the nobility enjoyed a freedom of thought, dress and expression - and bedding - that they did not enjoy here.

Katte, too, had once wished to escape this orderly but dull constellation of farmers and soldiers, with its strict hierarchies and traditions, and move to the Inner Planets where one could live more freely and in accordance with one’s personal desires. 

They’d planned to leave together, with Keith…

***

“What have I done with my life that I haven’t seen Paris? Katte, tell me that my life has not been a waste.”

“Better to ask your couriers if you wish to be flattered, milord,” Katte told him gently. “You know this is not my purpose here by your side.”

“But they are philosophers and you are a soldier,” Frederick said petulantly. “They do not understand my military victories.”

“They understand how your greatness reflects on them,” Katte suggested. “And that after continual war for nearly a decade, the Prussian holdings miraculously remain intact for levying the taxes that pay their salaries.”

“Too far,” said Frederick sharply, and Katte desisted.

They were companionable then. 

These dreams never went the same way; sometimes they fought. Sometimes they had sex. Sometimes Frederick spent the whole time complaining to Katte about his most recent conquest or about the court gossip he didn't enjoy, but couldn't escape (though he was the worst gossip of all).

Most often, just to be together was enough; and through all that had happened, Katte’s devotion had never wavered. That was his role in this place: to be constant. 

To find happiness, one must have at least two close friends. Katte thought. When one is arguing with one one finds solace in the other. 

The chief advantage he held over Wilhemine, his oldest rival, who had known Frederick the longest, was his proximity… to reach Bayreuth, where their father, the Ogre, had sent Wilhemine as punishment for being Frederick’s oldest ally, one crossed half the latitudes of their moon and a number of independent and Austrian holdings. 

To reach Katte, Frederick had only to dream.

His place in Fredericks affections secure, Katte never worried about their little squabbles. Who could complete with an undying phantom? Frederick’s young dalliances would age, while Katte would remain forever young, wise, and loyal. His character was unwavering, in contrast to Frederick’s which was as changeable as the British seas. 

As changeable as his eyes, which went from an azure grey to a greenish gray, like the oceans he’d never seen and only read about in books.

***

Frederick woke, in the early hours of the artificial dawn, and rose alone from his bed. For these last ten years, since he’d found his secretary Catt dipping into the treasury, he was accustomed to being alone in his quarters. 

His dogs, and George Keith, his Lord Marshall, were some of the only companions remaining to him in his old age. 

Katte had died years ago and thinking back to his dream - he’d had it often lately - it occurred to him that Katte had appeared as he had in their youth - twenty-six, almost the age Frederick had been when he’d assumed the throne nearly a half-century ago. 

Fredersdorf had died twenty years earlier; Maurpertuis, D’Argens, all the rest of their little circle had passed on long ago. Even his great enemies, Maria Theresa, Catherine the Great and Madame de Pompadour had passed on, until only he remained. 

Life was a prison, and he was alone here.

And yet, he refused to accept any of them in a simulation. The truth, however painful, was still more valuable than a falsehood. 

But it didn’t mean that he lived solely in this painful reality. 

He reached for the snuff box on the dresser; wetting a pinkie, he dug it through the Spanish snuff and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. A little early in the morning to already be taking leave of his senses; but it was the only reliable way he knew of to empty his mind of concerns, while leaving his aging body intact.

San souci, he thought. Without concerns. 

The Frederick of his dream had not been his current decrepit form, but the middle-aged man who had received those letters from Wilhelmine during her travels abroad, and drowned in bitterness that she had escaped while he had not. 

That she’d visited the traitors (for whom he still had affection), Voltaire and Algarotti, in Switzerland and Italy on the Inner Planet where they’d fled from him. 

Or had they merely fled from Potsdam? The country was its king, so in the end there was not much difference. 

His country was a prison, and he ruled as a prisoner. That had never changed, not since Katte’s execution all those years ago. What had he accomplished with his life? Sometimes he thought, shockingly little. Certainly not as much as he had hoped, whatever anyone else thought about it.

Soon he’d also be gone; but not an instant before his time. If God did exist, Frederick did not want to see Him at all. 

He would not give his enemies the pleasure of dying before them; he would outlast them all.


	2. Fredersdorf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another character study, I'm afraid. After this only Keith left to go; if you can't have quality you'll at least get quantity. ^^

Fredersdorf was born on a middling-sized moon in a region called Pomerania, a far-flung possession of the kingdom of Brandenburg-Prussia; in a little town called Gartz, which had very pleasant temperate weather.

There was nothing very remarkable about Gartz, except that it lay on the main trade route circumlocuting the central Gas Giant, around which the Germanic, Austrian, Hungarian, Saxon, Hessen, Ottoman and Baltic moons all revolved; and being one of the outer moons of the planet, had a very convenient space port where one could dock one's large interplanetary ship, and exchange it for one of the smaller moon-hoppers.

The little town of Gartz, with its little fort, was therefore a frequent host to the Outer and Inner Planets’ armadas; not to mention the armadas of the Scandinavian space colonies, with their huge orbiting shipyards capable of building the most gigantic spaceships.

These ships from time to time would land a distance away from the valuable space ports on Pomerania; and open their holds so that their military infantry would pour out, and march into Gartz to garrison there. And from this secure location, well-supplied by the surrounding farms, they'd lay siege to the spaceport, hoping to take it in a ground battle that wouldn't damage the landing pads.

There had been any number of wars like this over the last several hundred years; however the most recent of them had begun only ten years before Fredersdorf was born, and continued through his childhood and adolescence.

So he'd learned quite early about the effects of war between kings on people who lived in the way.

Always ambitious, Fredersdorf had resolved from the first hungry winter of his childhood to leave this place as soon as possible, and to rise as far in the ranks of men as he could.

So he did what any third son of a village fiddler would have done in his situation. He enlisted in the army.

***

“It should be a good show tonight.”

“It better be! I took the shuttle all the way from Vienna this morning.”

“From Vienna?! Madam, you are either a fool or a visionary… the symphony here shows promise, but they get by on second-hand instruments and what musicians the military can spare, who are too old or too maimed to continue their service.”

“Oh I know… but I love the sound of the real wood violins… the carbon-fibre ones just don’t sound the same, in my opinion.”

“Madam, there’s no difference. The studies…”

“I know what the studies say. There is a difference, I’m telling you! Also the German flutes, in my opinion, sound best in an orchestra. The Viennese flutes are too penetrating.”

Fredersdorf, waiting in the lobby of the royal music hall, listened with interest. The flute, which he played along with oboe in the military band, was an extremely martial instrument. It went well with marches and kept the time in drills on the parade grounds. A penetrating sound, in this context, would only be a good thing. 

But there was another side to the instrument, a softer side, that he was also interested in. 

“I agree with Madam,” he told the gentleman at her side. In his army dress uniform, the best item of clothing he owned, he did not stand out much from the crowd here, a fact he was grateful for - officer or recruit, they all wore the same uniform. Amidst the ladies dressed in bolts of gathered fabric and lace, and gentlemen similarly draped in dramatic cloaks, cravats and collars, there were quite a few of the plain black military uniforms with their modestly decorated silver lapels.

But he caught the man’s eyes go to his shoulders, where the epaulets of rank would be fixed. 

Fredersdorf had none, but he did know music. “English flutes have a low range, French flutes have a soft tone, and German flutes blend the best with orchestras... or so I've heard," he said demurely.”

“What’s the matter with a soft tone?” a new voice cut in, and at once Fredersdorf had the feeling of being on stage - that all eyes had turned toward their section of the lobby, and they were not actually speaking about flutes at all any more. 

They weren't that different in age, him and the young crown prince. 

“Of course nothing,” Fredersdorf said, “Pardon my impertinence.” 

He almost added the _my lord_ , but stopped, noting the hat and wig. Was this fashion, or a bad disguise? His retinue, several old men (servants, ministers, tutors?) seemed eager to move their young charge away, and up to the balcony box Fredersdorf knew he must have reserved. 

“Don’t do that… you were making an argument, you should continue it. Pretend I’m not here.”

After interrupting, he wanted Fredersdorf to address his argument? While pretending it was not his argument???

This was so absurd that Fredersdorf was shocked into speaking the truth. “It will depend on the piece, I think,” he said. “A good piece for a softer flute would be…”

“Blavet's neo-impressionist experiments."

They said it at the same time. He and the prince shared a smile, and then the usher came to announce the start of the show, and they parted with a nod for their different sections of the audience. 

***

 _He is interesting_ , Fredersdorf thought. 

Of course, he hadn’t been the only person to notice the crown prince tonight. The younger Frederick's face, like those of his brothers and sisters, was widely known from the political-cum-entertainment broadcasts... Rumors about him abounded, and especially about his frequent scuffles with his father, the King.

In the countryside the opinion on these two was divided, with some feeling sorry for the much-abused prince and others feeling he took too much after his mother, a woman whose sympathies lay with foreign powers.

Though they were not far apart in age, Fredersdorf thought the young Frederick looked even younger surrounded by his much older retainers. He resolutely ignored two, but seemed close to the third, frequently turning to his side to comment on the contrapuntal bits and more interesting keyboard improvisations. Evidently he was not just here to be seen being here, but had serious musical opinions. 

This gave Fresersdorf a new appreciation for the politics of the court, because the prince’s disobedience in attending this concert could not have been kept secret from any king who had truly commanded the loyalty of those around him. 

It must be an open secret then, his defiance. He would seem to have many supporters - and close to him, as well.

***

The news of the prince's imprisonment in Kustrin, following his failed attempt to defect to the English, reached Fredersdorf as it did all Prussians, through the chain of army gossip that passed along the regiments.

And along with that gossip, the rumor that even in disgrace - with the King attempting to curb his rebellious streak once and for all - the prince still sought to flaunt the king’s edicts. He was to be locked up with no diversions at all - no books, music, or company - in order to better reflect on his crimes, while he and his fellow conspirator awaited their court marshal. 

But he wanted a flautist to keep him company in his prison cell in Kustrin fortress. He'd remembered Fredersdorf and asked for him, though not by name.

No reward without risk. Fredersdorf immediately volunteered his skills.

Their first meeting was awkward, as Fredersdorf did not dare to converse with the prince outside of asking what he might like to hear. He played the only piece he knew of the requests, and vowed to find the others and return having learned them. Frederick listened raptly, but silently, looking unprince-like in the rough brown prison garb and somehow more shy than the boy that Fredersdorf remembered from the concert hall balcony. 

But seeing the prince’s tears, afterward, he gauged that his efforts had been received well. In any case he was asked back several times over the next few weeks. 

Each time he entered the prince's quarters, the same scene would play out. First, his biometrics were confirmed, and he was scanned for sub-dermal electronic devices. Rumor had it that the king had almost killed the young prince when he'd been caught on the puddle-jumper to Wesel; but having been convinced to spare his life, at least for the moment, he certainly did not want anyone else to finish the job.

Next, he was asked to change clothing, and to leave all his belongings, besides his flute and sheet music, in a small antechamber. The clothes that were laid out for him were formal, plain, and had no marks to distinguish his class or rank. But they fitted well, and he'd always looked good in blue and black.

The instructions for all these procedures had been left by the King, who had very particular ideas about Frederick's treatment. The guards justified their adherence to the letter, if not the spirit of the king's instructions by having Fredersdorf also bring in the prince's food; which was allowed three times a day. The food was cut into pieces, as Frederick was not allowed a knife.

During all this preparation, none of it strictly allowed, the guards made it a point to turn their heads away from Fredersdorf, as if they did not see him. At first he thought they objected to his birth rank - that he was not fit company for a prince - but when Frederick opened the door to accept Fredersdorf into his completely bare room - the only furniture a bed and toilet - they sneered harder, making no bones of their distaste. 

In fact they didn't object to Fredersdorf at all, but to Frederick, and to anyone who would choose to spend time with him during this socially difficult time.

Who was the audience for these displays of disgust? Even if their antics had been recorded, and the recordings taken to the King, no one important trusted the fidelity of video. One could easily change an expression, a look, a gesture, to suggest a disloyalty on the part of one’s enemies. 

And in any case, they didn't put any stop to the meetings. That Frederick was defying the king's orders, listening to music and reading Marcus Aureleus and other forbidden books, smuggled in through a hole in the ceiling and hidden under his mattress was an open secret. 

But in this drama, they all had their roles to play. While the guards were fully aware that they did not follow the king's orders, it seemed they did not want to anger either the old King or, if he should one day ascend to the throne, the new one. They tried to play both sides. 

This seemed to Fredersdorf to be fundamentally cowardly. Once one had chosen a side, one ought to stick with it. 

***

He finished the last piece, and moved to pack his flute back into its traveling case. 

Suddenly: “Could I…?”

The prince had moved to touch Fredersdorf’s arm to halt him, but at the last moment thought better of it. Instead he wrapped both his arms around himself, and nodded to the partially disassembled flute in Fredersdorf’s hands. 

Fredersdorf, startled, merely nodded. “Of course,” he said, and swiftly put the pieces back together, to hand the instrument to the prince. “As you wish.”

As the prince brought the reassembled flute to his lips, it occurred to Fredersdorf suddenly that he hadn’t cleaned the mouthpiece. 

“A moment, my lord,” he said and gestured toward his case. “Let me clean that for you…”

“No need,” the prince said, and with a defiant gleam to his eye began to play - a companion piece to the one Fredersdorf had just finished. The other part in the duet he’d been requested to play. 

Fredersdorf could only watch, frozen. This was an act of intimacy he had not expected: the prince’s lips so close to where his own had just been. Despite the wide social gap between them, Frederick did not seem concerned about the propriety; nor did he observe the almost ritualistic distance some members of the nobility kept from the peasantry - wiping down the tables they had touched, using separate entrances and exits, etc. 

Besides that, he was a better musician than Fredersdorf would have guessed.

Maybe it was his fascination that caused him to stare a bit too long at exactly those lips. When he realized, he glanced away, to the rest of the simple room - with its bed, washbasin, and forbidden writing desk all tucked away behind a simple privacy screen from the part of the room where he played, standing, for the prince.

But it was too late - he’d been caught staring. 

The look Frederick gave him, however, was not disgusted as he’d expected; but knowing and triumphant. 

And it recalled to Fredersdorf the other rumors about the prince - that he was not only a traitor to their country, who’d planned to defect to a foreign power; but that he’d chosen as co-conspirators in his traitorous plot the most intimate of his companions. That he was in the habit of taking these intimate companions, against the laws of King, God, and Nature, to bed with him.

It dawned on Fredersdorf, perhaps for the first time, that the guards’ disgust may not have been feigned for an audience, but genuine. 

And, also, that he could be truly useful here. 

And so he forced himself to bring his gaze up from his boots, and back to meet Frederick’s. 

There was a light in the prince’s eyes, a strong hint of green today. Fredersdorf lost himself for a moment in wondering what lay behind that gleam; that even after being caught, sentenced, and imprisoned, the prince could still seem to believe he was about to win. 

“Thank you,” the prince said, once he’d finished the piece. 

“Sharing this instrument is the closest I’ve been to another person in months…. It’s as if our lips met, even if only second-hand.”

Fredersdorf had thought it, but would never have said it. The boldness was charming.

And fortune favors the bold, does it not?

“Of course,” Fredersdorf said. “As you wish.” 

***

And so they began their relationship. Now the guards really had a reason to look elsewhere.

A week later, Katte was executed. 

***

This time Fredersdorf did not need to hear it as army gossip; everyone knew. It was on all the broadcasts.

In the weeks following this event, Frederick was too depressed even to listen to him play, and took no visitors at all.

It was surprising to Fredersdorf how quickly the prince had grown on him; and how sharply, almost chemically, he felt the loss.

But back with his unit in Berlin, Fredersdorf could do nothing but wonder if the light he'd seen in those eyes would finally be extinguished, once and for all.

At least, that was what a less capable man would have concluded.

"Spare a penny? Spare a kruezer? For the prince."

The men in his unit, who'd been so disdainful of the traitorous prince the week before, were surprisingly sentimental. And Fredersdorf's presence so close to the main character of the most popular drama of the moment did lend him a certain kind of second-hand glow. He had no trouble organizing a whip-round for some expensive hydroponic flowers, to be delivered in their name to the prince. 

Katte's execution on television had been quite dramatic, especially his supposed last words, which one could hear play-acted in the streets: _To die for you, charming prince, is sweet_. 

They lived, Fredersdorf thought, in a decadent, baroque, and sentimental age. An age of public drama between the nobility, broadcast to the masses for entertainment; of soap operas and classical operas; of literary feuds that played out in anonymous pamphlets. Many who had been indifferent to the traitorous prince had found themselves swayed to his side by his public grief and humiliation. 

And with this money, he bribed his way back into the fortress at Kurstin, and offered his services to the prince to smuggle out a letter to the beloved older sister, and others. Write it on the back of this sheet music in lemon ink, he suggested. It was a plot he'd picked up from a drama.

And just like that - back again in the prince's favor. A decisive act of loyalty, that would never be forgotten. 

Fredersdorf had always been ambitious, but he'd never dreamed of this scenario. Unlike Frederick he had no flair for drama. 

Similarly to Frederick, however, he understood the value of loyalty.

And fortune favors the bold, does it not?


	3. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape from Wesel

When Keith arrived in Wesel he thought, very well.

Their plot, if one could call it that, had been uncovered in its planning stages, while Frederick had merely inquired of their mutual friend, the British army captain, what sort of welcome they might receive in that fellow’s home country; and how Frederick's sister and mother could be spared from suspicion, or rescued from the king’s wrath once the escape was underway.

And so Keith, who had taken the risk to deliver those letters; and been ready to leave with Frederick in the dead of night, cutting ties with his own family forever; was sent to the furthest outpost in the kingdom, quietly, to avoid scandal. 

Wesel was brightly lit, a spaceport, at the pole and perpetually pointed toward the two suns. There was no night in Wesel, only a momentary shadow twice a day as the inner planets passed between the Suns and the moon. Afternoon and evening siesta, they were called. 

On the East Prussian moon, near Pomerania, was Memel, forever facing toward the great land empires of the Outer Planet - Wesel’s twin of perpetual night. 

Between the two, Keith had gotten off easily. Not only was this a more pleasant place of banishment; but from Wesel, the plan, to leave for the Inner Planets, was still afoot.

***  
Keith’s most valuable possession these days was his suitcase with the false bottom, where he hid the letters from Frederick, still in their sealed privacy envelopes. 

It would be even better to erase them after reading, and he was on the lookout for a magnetic scanner powerful enough to undo the e-ink. There wasn’t much call for something like that on the base, except as a novelty for soldiers mixing their professional and private business, and one had to be careful with the cheaper models - that they wouldn’t scan and transmit the letters at the same time as they erased them. 

To check this, one needed another, not as uncommon device to ensure the magnetic scanners did not have the ability to send or receive a wireless signal. 

Then one needed a device to ensure the fidelity of the wireless scanning device… 

Keith did not have much technical knowledge, though he knew basic scientific facts; but what he lacked in specialized knowledge, he made up for in paranoia. 

To hide the encrypted letters in their re-sealed envelopes in the hidden bottom of a bag he kept hidden under his bed: that was true spycraft. Keith’s lifelong habits of secrecy, and naturally anxious personality, might serve their true purpose here. 

***

Wait. Wait. Hold. Hold. Not yet. 

Keith felt like a man at the card table, or a British stockbroker, waiting for the right time to play his hand. 

He awaited Frederick’s word, as Katte and Frederick made their arrangements to join him here. On his end, all was prepared. 

Not yet. Not yet. 

Keith could sense Frederick’s impatience from the letters, to be already away. He urged caution, as he knew Katte must be doing as well. Frederick’s movements were much more closely watched by the suspicious and overbearing King. 

Not yet. Not yet. 

Soon. 

He liked to watch the shuttles take off from the launch pads, clustered in the center of the square fortress with a good bit of yard between them and the barracks. He had a clear view from his rooms, facing inward, and from the fortress walls when he patrolled. 

Following the natural timing of the planet’s orbit, one shuttle could take off a day. What interested Keith were the ones that took off in between, requiring enormous amounts of highly toxic jet fuel to achieve orbital velocities without the help of the planet’s spin. These were the ships of high diplomatic importance; whose passengers were too important to wait for bulk transport the next day. 

And Keith and Frederick, with any luck, would be on one of those soon.

***

At launch, all blinds and shutters in surrounding buildings were closed. All guards on rotation took refuge in the circular towers, one at each corner, behind lead-lined and noise-dampened walls. The gates were closed and locked. 

The light, noise, and sound were tremendous. After launch one stayed indoors for several hours, until the toxic fumes from the jet fuel could be cleared from the air. 

At Wesel they guarded the launchpad for the King, as it was a valuable asset; but just as much, they guarded the surrounding countryside from the toxic fallout. 

To be sent here temporarily was an opportunity - to show leadership and advance in the ranks. 

To be sent here permanently was a death sentence. 

***

Frederick, too, was a valuable asset in need of protection.

Lying in dark, next to him, when they had first discovered each other - Keith had fumbled before but he’d never known anything like it. His heat radiated outwards, one could feel his enormous reserves of energy merely by being in the same room.

Under covers, in the dark, with nothing to shield their skin - it was even more intense.

Just lying there, your heart would start to race. Your skin would tingle - like it was bathed in the unshielded radiation of the two suns. You felt wholly, and inexplicably alive.

This was the light Frederick’s father sought to put out - that he couldn’t abide.

The rhythm and heat built between them - but didn’t dissipate after release. If anything it was more intense - the most intense thing Keith had felt in his life.

“What will you do first?” Frederick asked him, hands at his side.

The heat was too much - they couldn’t bear to touch each other. It merely existed between them. Keith felt invincible, but his paranoia held him in check. They still needed to be careful.

“I guess the tearooms?” He said. “Or I might go to see a play in English. Something I’ve seen before, one of the popular operas. I need to practice my English.

“ _Not me_ ,” Frederick said. He had the slightest French-Huguenot accent in English, Keith found it very charming.

“ _I know enough_ ,” Keith replied in the same language, “ _For the marketplaces_. But I want to join the high society, attend the artistic salons.”

“ _Me too_ ,” Frederick said. “ _I want that as well._ And I want to see the places my mother has told me about - the old Roman ruins and palaces. And of course the houses of ill repute.” He said the last with a devilish grin, and reached for Keith.

They didn’t talk much again after that.

***

Wait. Hold. Wait. Not yet. Katte wasn’t able to secure leave on short notice, but he will meet us at the destination. Can your brother be trusted? I only need to find my way to you these last hundred miles. We are traveling closer every day. Wait. Wait. Soon.

***

When the final letter reached his garrison - ALL IS DISCOVERED, AWAY! - Keith was already gone.

***

It was only the first step, of course - Lord Chesterfield's shuttle was bound for the Hague, where Keith would have diplomatic safety while he waited for Frederick to arrive. They would travel the final leg, to England, on an ordinary fishing boat, for reasons of safety.

The shuttle left the moon behind almost immediately, but it took a good while before the enormous, all-encompassing curve of the Gas Giant no longer took up the entire view. 

Then for the first time, Keith could see it clearly - all the Outer Planets lined up in a row, like pearls on a string.

As the ship finished its acceleration, and flipped to decelerate - with their destination still as small as a marble in the viewport - Keith saw the same view in the other direction - the two Inner Planets, kept in perpetual alignment with occasional corrective thrusts of jet fuel. Where they were headed was a gleaming blue-white jewel; the one beyond it a bare rock to shield its twin from the heat of the Suns, so humanity could live in the shadow. 

Keith watched, rapt, as the Inner Planets grew in size; until he could only see one planet. They entered a geosynchronous orbit, conserving fuel until the Hague came back into view.

The seat, next to Keith's, was empty. He still hoped by some miracle to see Frederick at the Hague; but the odds weren’t good. 

And ahead - he'd be paying the debt for this passage for some amount of time.

Still, before they arrived - in that moment of complete weightlessness as the ship paused midway, neither accelerating away nor decelerating towards-

In that moment he'd felt it. True freedom.


End file.
